Extra
by Call Me Personality
Summary: The little things that don't quite make the papers, but are still big news.
1. Snow and Independence

**A/N: I seriously like this one. I think it's cute. I think that after this I'm gonna put in one shots as I write them, but I really find that I'm bad at keeping a time table, so as I feel like it I'll update. Anyways. I don't own anything except a small cameo from an OC but more on him later. **

Snow and Independece

One of the most annoying things in the world was when Specs worried over him. It absolutely infuriated him. Sometimes, it couldn't be helped, like when ice lined the sidewalks one inch thick, and the boys weren't able to scrape a path for the crutch and he had to be carried on his back, or when his back was really hurting him, and Specs had to work all of the knots out, and even then he was pissy about it. But he accepted that there were some things that he just couldn't do. The thing that really made him mad was when it was completely unnecessary. Specs, by nature, was a nurturer. He liked to take care of people. He often took charge as nurse when one of the boys was sick, he cooked every meal that he could, and he made sure that everyone had shoes on their feet and shirts on their backs, even loaning his own shoes to Jack once, who stumbled around all day and took note of how large Specs' feet were. His heart was a thick as his glasses and as big as his shoes. He had to take care of people. Crutchie was often the recipient of this care, as most would concider his leg a complete incovinience to both himself and the boys. Of course none of them thought that. It wasn't that Cructhie did anything less afficiently than them, just that he did it differently.

Never the less, he was worried over by everyone, especially the Mother Hen. Though not an inconvenience, his leg was a liability, a risk to his own health, and that was a problem. Crutchie was just too precious. It was so rare, the little light that he shed on the lodging house, that if anything were to happen to that light, if someone were to blow it out or cover it up, they all feared they would never regain it. Unlike the rest of them, he preserved the childlike wonder that one only keeps until they're about ten. Of course they weren't going to risk anything. So, Specs was tasked with taking care of him. Crutchie was grateful for the helping hand, of course, and he always thanked Specs no matter how pissed off he was. Sometimes it was after he had calmed down, sometimes it was imediently, and sometimes it was after some crisis or another had passed, but he always said thank you. Until the winter after the strike. Winters were always hard on him, what with the ice and how stiff his leg got. He always seemed to be cared for more in the winter. On one particular snowy evening, though, it was too much.

Papes were hard to sell on snow days, but the limp sold them just the same, though he would like to claim it was his personality. He was in before most of the others, except Specs. Specs had one of those smiles, the kind that spreads like butter and is contagious to the bone. The kind that is sheepishly charming and really very nice to look at, and it wasn't a half-assed smile, either. Every smile was from ear to ear. So his papes sold as fast as Crutchie's. The minute that he entered the door and stamped his boot, Specs was there, taking his thin jacket and brushing his hat clear of snow.

"Tanks, Specs," Cructhie shivered as he limped over to his bunk slowly to grab a blanket.

"Let me get that for ya, Crutch." Specs offered and ran to Crutchie's bunk before he could protest.

"Well tanks again, but I could 'a gotten it, I was 'af way there." Crutchie laughed as he sat on one of the small chairs infront of the fire.

"Yeah but, I jus' don't want ya to strain ya leg, is all. Tain't nothin'." Specs answered as he joined his younger at the fire. He warmed his hands absentmindedly as he sent sideways glances to Crutchie's leg, which was twitching slightly from the cold and tightness. "'ows the leg?" He asked. "'Sal right. Could be better, but you knows what the cold does. I lived last winta I can do it again." Crutchie replied enthusiastically. A few more boys were fileing in now. Romeo, Racetrack, and Buttons all came in stamping out of the cold. Specs waved, and threw a few more twigs into the fire. The boys joined them and warmed their stiff fingers. Crutchie was very relieved that Romeo had shown up when he did, as he and Specs were very close. Maybe if Specs was distracted, he would leave him alone.

It worked for a little while, that was, until he stood to retrieve his jurnal and write about the snow. Specs looked up from his conversation to the boy before him. "Whatcha need, Cructh?" He asked, eyes filled with the urge to help. Crutchie smiled and shook his head, limping over to his bunk to grab what he needed.

"Nothin' I can't handle, I promise." He answered as he waved the jurnal and pencil before Specs. "See, don't even throw me off balance." He joked. Specs smiled and continued his conversation with Romeo as Crutchie sat down on the floor, as Buttons had taken his seat. Specs looked up and frowned at Racetrack's best friend. "'Ey, Buttons, let Crutchie sit, you know what tha cold does to 'is leg." Specs scolded. Buttons looked down at Cructhie and the back to Specs before apologizing and moving so that Cructhie could sit.

"No, it ain't a problem." Crutchie protested. This was really beginning to bug him. What, did Specs think he couldn't take care of himself for something? "Besides, I really needed to stretch it out anyway, so don't worry 'bout it." He assured. Buttons sat back down and ruffled Crutchie's hair.

"Cructhie, ya shouldn't get down on tha floor like that, ya might not be able ta get back up." Specs pointed out with an air of motherly authority.

"Tanks,Ma, I'll remember that." Crutchie replied sarcastically. "What's up with you taday? Ya think I can't take care of myself?" Crutchie was obviously annoyed now, and Specs backed off a bit.

"'Course not, kid, youse as tough as nails, just don't want ya hurtin' yaself is all." Specs answered. Crutchie rolled his eyes and went back to writing, detailing how white

The snow was against the gray New York Buildings. He was left alone for most of the night. After the rest of the boys came in, he got a few pats on the sholder and Jack offered to rub his leg. He declined and continued writing, and Jack knew he was pissed because Cructhie loved leg rubs. He left it though, because he knew from expirience that prying something out of Crutchie Morris ended in blood shed. Namely, a crutch to the head.

As everyone filed to bed that night, Crutchie was a bit late, as he wanted to finish writing. Jack stayed with him and sketched the writer at work and few times before drawing the fire and one of the newest boys, Salty. Finally, Cructhie announced that he was finished and Jack wanted to read it, but Crutchie said he'd had to do it in the morning because it was late and they were getting up damn early. They stood and headed for the ladder. Specs, being the mother, never went to bed until the rest of the boys had. He watched from the window as Jack climbed up and took the crutch that was offered. Specs stood and jogged over just as Cructhie was about to head up. "You needs some help?" He asked. Crutchie rested his head on the railing for a moment before turning around.

"No, Specs, I do not need any help." He half yelled. A few of the boys' heads popped up from their bunks to look at the spectical. "Has it eva occurred to you that I actually survived for five years with this damn thing before I 'ad you ta baby me? Or that I climb this ladda every day? I ain't no kid, Specs, and I sure as hell ain't no handicap. I don't need ya to carry me everywhere or get blankets for me or make sure that I gots a place to sit. The only reason you ain't gots a crutch-sized bruise on ya head is because Jack's got it, but 'e might do tha deed 'imself. Please treat me like I can actually function. Good night." With that, Crutchie effortlessly climbed the ladder and the flight of stairs after that that lead to the penthouse.

Specs stared after the fifteen-year-old and sort of felt like crying and sort of felt like laughing. On one hand he felt awful for treating Cructhie like a kid, on the other, he just got chewed out by a person two years and a foot smaller than him. The kid had lived on the street for three years before Jack brought him in, and in poverty before that. He never had a father, and his mother had polio like him. He did every bit of work around the house and in the factories before he lost his leg, and even after. He had supported himself since he was six. And it hit him how tough Crutchie really was. He wasn't a complete wide-eyed optimist. He was a real wise guy, tough as nails, and scared him more than the Delancys. Specs had no right to treat him like he couldn't do anything. And he wasn't a handicap. No matter what the doctors said. Because he wasn't less capable. If anything he was more equipped.

In the end, Specs decided on a sad smiled, and went to bed.

Damn. What a kid.

**A/N: so, as you guys may have noticed, the new newsie that Jack was sketching was Salty, my OC. I don't really like writing OCs, but I might for him if I can flesh out a personality. It kind of depends. I feel like he'd be the really grumpy kid who doesn't want to talk to anyone but ends up be everyone's favorite to talk to. I don't know. He'll show up again at some point. Anyway, tell me if you liked it, and I have an idea for a collage au that involves Chinese food and condoms. So yeah. This is going to be interesting. Anyway, let me know what you thought. Thanks!**


	2. Late Night Limps

**A/N: OMG you guys. You are amazing! Your comments were amazing! I am so happy! So here's the collage au! I thought that I should let you guys know everyone's majors/minors. Here you go! **

**-Crutchie: creative** **writing, emphasis on short stories and poetry -Jack: visual arts -Davey: major; law minor; music theory -Race: major; languistics minor; journalism -Specs: double major; dance, theatrical arts** **-Romeo: major; theatrical arts minor; dance -Kathrine: double major: journalism, busines -Spot Conlon: forensic science -Salty (OC): forensic science -Smalls: double major: business,** **law**

**If I only owned them...**

Late Night Limps and the Events that Take Place Afterward

Crutchie loved his housing. It was better than he could have ever hoped. He was put in a house full of artistic guys, rooming with the most talented person he knew. He got the perk of staying up as late as he wanted, as neither he nor Jack had any morning classes, and they were both night owls. He had someone who would ilistrate his characters and stories subconsciously as he read them. He got inspiration from, not only Jack, but from Specs, the dancer, Romeo, the actor, and Davey, the singing lawyer (interesting story behind that, but that's for a different time). It was all just really really nice.

The building was pretty big, housing about fifty boys, an identical house next to them housing another fifty. There were twelve hoses in all, each house having a twin, and named after a city in New York. Manhattan, their house, Flushing, Richmond, Woodside, Bronx, and Brooklyn held all six hundred and fifteen boys who lived on campus. The same was said for the girls, except they stayed in houses names after California cities. A nice system, dividing the students with different interest into different houses, Manhattan, the arts, Brooklyn, Sports, Bronx, the students who had no flipping idea what they were doing.

It was strictly forbidden to have someone of the opposite sex in your room after ten o'clock, for obvious reasons. Everyone knew the rule, and the admisitrators trusted that everyone fallowed it. They had obviously never met the Brooklyn Boys, and they had defiantly neve met the desperately active bisexual that was Spot ConlonThe jocks were constantly sneaking in girls and boys, and lying to cover for eachother. The teachers checked for the first few weeks, but, as they were coming up on winter holliday, no one checked anymore.

It was inevitable, really.

It was going to happen, no matter what they tried. At some point, Jack Kelly, the artist, the rebel, the leader, was going to sneak in Kathrine Pulitzer, the good girl, the snarky journalist, the rule follower, and it was going to be big. Crutchie had gone for a walk, or rather a limp, as he often joked. Late night limps often provided his inspiration for writing, and, after the first few times, the teachers had stopped asking him if he were lost on the big campus. It had become a regular sight, the scrawny boy with a crutch, a hoodie, and a grey stripped beany limping around campus in the middle of the night, stoping every once in a while to write something down. It was cold at the New York university, and he wore a heavy jacket over his hoodie, leather gloves replacing his normal fingerless ones to save him the trouble of blisters from the crutch. He arrived back around eleven, stamping his boot clear of snow and hanging his coat on the rack just inside the door. He waved at Specs and Romeo, both doing ballet bar in the living room while Race read them his latest piece, something about chocolate and periods. He slowly climbed the stairs to the second of four floors, coming to the very last door, room number twelve, and opened the door. On the bed opposite to his was Jack Kelly, making out with one Kathrine Pulitzer who had him pined down to the bed. They broke apart as Crutchie entered, and Jack, for once was speachless. Crutchie stood for a moment, staring at the spectical. Kathrine had Jack pinned down. And it wasn't even the kind that he could break out of if he had wanted to, oh no, he was stuck until she let him move. Jack Kelly was at Katharine's mercy.

Crutchie moved finally, walking to his bed stand and grabbing his pill bottles, his keys, and a candy bar. He then turned to the dresser on the other side of the room and pulled out a box of condoms, throwing them at Jack and hitting him square in the face. He then walked to the door, and, just before he left, he turned back to Jack and said;

"I'm getting some Chinese food. I guess I'd better bunk with Davy. Oh, and Jack, if you break my lamp, I'll kill ya. Night, Kat." The door shut and Kathrine turned back to Jack in horror. Andrew "Crutchie" Morris had just seen her in the most compromising situation she could imagine. She buried her head in Jack's neck and burst into embarrassed giggles. After the giggles subsided a bit, she sat up and looked at Jack.

"I only have one question." She said. "Why on God's good earth, does Crutchie Morris have a box of condoms in his sock drawer?" This was enough to send Jack falling off the bed laughing.

Crutchie did get Chinese food. It was good Chinese food. He dragged half of the house along with him to tell of his evening, and there wasn't a dry eye at the table by the time he was finished. He bunked with Davey that night, and, when he arrived back the next morning, Kathrine was gone, no condoms were used, and his lamp was not broken.

Crutchie loved his housing.

**A/N: so there you go. I told you, Chinese food and condoms. So Ill probably explain the singing lawyer thing in the next story in this au. Let me know what you want to hear next. I love prompts so send them my way! Thanks! **


	3. Disproportion

**A/N: and yet another Crutchie fic. Sorry, I promise I'll wrote some of the other boys too. Who do you guys want to see? I'll be glad to write any of them, because you know, they're newsies. Okay so this fic is from Jack's point of view. I hope you like it! **

**Disclaimer: if I owned them, Jack and Davey would be desperately in love. **

Crutchie was in his shorts when Jack came up to the penthouse that day. It was one of those rare days that they got clean water to wash themselves, and Crutchie was sitting by the sink with a wet rag, washing his limp leg of all the dirt and sweat that it so constantly wore. This wasn't the first time that Jack had seen so much of Cructhie, in fact he had been there a few months back when something happened to Cructhie's back and he had go to the hospital, and they striped him stark naked. They were so comfortable with each other and the other boys that it hardly mattered how much skin was showing. As Jack removed his hat, vest and shirt, he took note, just like every time that he saw Crutchie's bare limbs, how very disproportionate he was.

Crutchie looked so very slim under his clothes witch were hand-me-downs from the older boys and didn't fit him right, and yes, there wasn't a bit of fat on him, but he was unbelievably strong. His upper body was so used to carrying half the weight that it had become extremely muscular. The muscles around his right hip were exaggerated and buff as they were the ones that dragged the dead limb along all of the time. His left leg was something to envy, even for Jack, who didn't have as much strength in his entire body as Crutchie had in his left leg. He could break ribs with that leg. He actually broke three of Morris Delancy's once. That was a good day.

And then there was his right leg, hanging limply, skin and bones, neither muscle nor fat on an inch of the pathetic limb. It was so strange, as the rest of the body was that of the strong man in the circus, but his right leg, was that of the starving orphan.

That leg reminded Jack of something. It reminded him of exactly who Crutchie was. Crutchie was strong. Crutchie was powerful and tough. Crutchie didn't need help from anyone to survive. He was strong and independent and capable, but that leg was the reminder that he was human. The dangerous thing about their relationship was that either Jack was over protective and worried, or he overlooked completely that his friend was struggling. Of course Crutchie could take care of himself, and got very irritated when he was babied and pampered, but, at the same time, there were things that he couldn't do by himself. The leg seemed so out of place, that it utterly shocked him every time he saw it, because the idea that Crutchie, the strong one, could be hindered by anything was terrifying to the bone. But that leg was there to remind him that, no matter how strong, or capable Crutchie seemed, he had faults, that even though he seemed happy and cheerful, he had dark days. He cursed and he drank and lied, even stole once. But what made Crutchie special was that he didn't lie for curse or steal for his own sake. He did it for them, the boys, his family. He was so very human, but dispite his shortcomings, faults, and dirty little secrets, he was good. He was flat out good. He knew his limitations and his abilities and he used that knowledge to help people. And even though he was so utterly humam, Crutchie was the only example Jack had for an angel.

"Whatcha thinkin' 'bout, Jack?" Crutchie asked from his place at the sink. Jack blinked and woke from his daze, walking over and running the cool water over his face and hair.

"Nothin' much, just rememberin' someone who I tink is really great, but sometimes Ise forget it." Jack said, and he took the cloth that Crutchie offered.

"What made youse tink of 'em?" Crutchie asked, pulling on a pair on trousers with a bit of difficulty. Jack thought for a moment, gazing blankly at the leg.

"Disproportion." Jack offered. Crutchie looked confused for a second before chuckling, shaking his head, pulling a shirt on, and walking down stairs with the other guys. The leg dragged behind him on the stairs, little thuds floating up the staircase as it came to each step.

Disproportion is often considered a bad thing. People, especially artist find it hard to coupe with any kind of disproportion in their lives. But Jack wasn't like that. Jack could see it. Jack knew just how important disproportion really was.

**A/N: so yeah, there you go. So you guys tell me what you want to see next, and I'll make it happen. Thanks! **


	4. Hair Cut

**Hey guys! So I know it's been a while, but I gave you three conccecutive pieces, so I hope that was enough to suffice. I'm back with a story centering Romeo and Specs, as requested by Validmarcell (I hope I spelled that right). Specs is important in here because I like to think that he and Romeo are besties and that he's also my favorite. Hopefully I'll have another collage au up soon, and maybe something centering Spot Conlon, because he's also my favorite. So yeah. This one was written really fast, so it's not as high on quality as usual, but I still like it. So here you go! And please let me know who you want me to write next because I love them all! Okay here it is! **

Romeo needed a hair cut. His black locks had begun to fall into his eyes, making his forhead sweat, and his vision to be blocked. It didn't matter how many times he pushed it behid his ears, or stuffed it in his hat, it always fell down. It was time for a hair cut. He'd been saving his pennies, and he could have gotten a five cent one like most of the boys, but he didn't want any measly snip at the local barber shop. He wanted one that coast a quarter.

It was rediculous to think that he could afford anything more than a nickle, but something seemed so wonderful about the way the rich men looked as they strolled out of the barber, hair slicked back as they climbed into a fancy carriage. He wanted to look like that. It would take months to save up twenty five cents, with his daily coasts of the lodging house and food. He was lucky if he could get ten cents, and all of that was spent. In two weeks he'd managed to saved two pennies and a nickle, keeping them tucked into his sock, not trusting anyone enough to leave them in the house. He only really trust Specs with anything, but if he were to give them to Specs, he was sure to lose them at some point. He wasn't exactly the best at keeping up with things.

He sat on the floor in front of his bunk, slowly drawing Jack and Crutchie, who were sprawled in front of the fire, animatedly talking about something about New Mexico and palominos. Romeo loved to draw. He didn't think he was very good, but he liked the way that people moved. He wasn't as good as Jack, and no one really knew about it, but he liked it all the same. Specs lay on Romeo's bunk above him, reading aloud from a book. Specs had been learning to read for about a year and he was getting smoother everyday, reading with a few stops every once in a while.

"Love is like a- a tree," Specs read, squinting and straining on the larger words. He'd been going to the local library lately and picking out a few books. Romeo had suggested 'The Hunchback of Notre Dame.' "it grows by itself,-umm- roots itself deeply in our-our-our- our being and-golly I hates this word- continues to flourish over a 'art in -um-gosh I don't know- runnin'?" He showed the book to Romeo and pointed to the word he was struggling on. Romeo pushed his bangs out of his eyes.

"Ruin." He said, smiling.

"Right, right, course," Specs mumbled, "The- uh- oh gosh- ummmmm..." He squinted at the word in confusion before showing it to Romeo again.

"Inexplicable." Romeo offered. Specs sighed and closed the book.

"Forget it. I gives up." The boy sprawled his arms across the bunk and set the book on his chest.

"I tought we said you was gunna finish this one." Romeo stated finishing off a few lines on Crutchie's arms and Jack's smile. Sticking the few stray pieces of paper under his bunk he scooted Specs over so that they could both sit on the bed.

"Ise only givin' up for taday. I'll finish tamarrow." He looked as Romeo grabbed the book from off his chest and began to read. He pushed his hair out of his face every few seconds so that he could see.

"Youse need a 'air cut." Specs noted as he ruffle his younger's hair. Romeo swatted his hand away. "Youse got enough, I saw the nickle."

"Yeah I do, but I want one that coasts a quarter." Romeo looked up from the book and pushed his bangs back again.

"Youse crazy," Specs said laying back down, "it'll take weeks."

"So what?"

"So you'll be steppin' on your pretty locks by then."

"Yeah, but I sure will look nice afta." Romeo smiled as Specs gave up.

After another week, Romeo looked like he could on it . The back was hanging just over his shoulders, his bangs right in his eyes, getting caught in his eyelids as he blinked. Specs had made sure that Romeo knew his opinion on the boys choice to wait. Everyday he tugged on his hair and made fun of him and even came after him with a rusty pair of scissors at one point.

As Specs looked at the boy from across the bunk room, he shook his head. This was getting rediculous. The elder walked over to where Jack and Race were sitting as he proposed his plan.

The hand had grabbed him unexpectedly as he entered the door that afternoon. First it was one, the two, then four. As he looked around in panic, he realized that all of the boys were there, and none of them were doing anything about it. In fact, they were each walking up and ruffling his long hair one by one, as if to say goodbye. He squinted in confusion and, realizing just whom his captures were, he grew even more confused. Jack and Race held his arms and dragged him around behind the second row of bunk beds.

Waiting there was Specs holding a pair of scissors. He smirked and snipped the air mockingly. As Race and Jack drew him closer, Romeo rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"Oh come on, Specs, you ain't really gunna cut off all my pretty locks, are ya?" Romeo asked. Specs didn't laugh it off and joke about it, oh no, he was serious. This was really going to happen.

"You're gonna kill yaself or someone else if ya keep it that long." Specs made sure that Romeo was standing still so that he could reach his hair right. Romeo cringed as the scissors cut through the first lock. He continued to cringe as the scissors continued to cut. He felt Specs move around his head and run his fingers through his hair. It took a long time, and pretty soon Jack and Race and the rest of the boys grew bored and restles and went about their business. Finally, Specs emerged from the beds and announced that he was done.

Romeo came out from behind the bed and met with a general stare of surprise. He wondered breafily how bad it looked. As he reached te dirty window, he looked at his reflection.

"Dear God," he whispered. He looked better than the rich fellows in the carriges. It fit around his face just right, framing the left side with a short side burn, and the right side with swooping bangs. The back looked smooth, thick and soft. As he put his hat back on, he turned to Specs. "Why the hell ain't ya getting money over this?" Specs shrugged.

"I never tought it was all that good. 'Ow much do ya tink it's worth?" He asked.

"Honestly," Finch said as he looked the cut over, "fifty cent."

"Your pullin' my leg now," Specs began. Everyone shook their heads and assured him that it was the best hair cut they had ever seen.

Specs cut everyone's hair from then on out, until one time he cut off half of Davey's hair and not the other, but that's a story for a different time.

**So I hope you likes this! Please tell me what you thought! And please let me know who to write next! **


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